


Breathing Space

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, Impact Play, Light BDSM, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In love and war, Jaune is hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Space

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by anonymous.

The floor was red Mistrali clay. In the summer it was always pleasantly cool to the touch, drawing in shade, and later in the year when snow capped the mountains and frost lapped at the edge of every cliff, just a touch of fire – crimson and crystalline – was enough to warm the heavy tiles an entire night. As such, almost everyone in Mistral had it set throughout their open-air rooms, by balconies and gardens so they could be tended each day. The only downside was the light dusting left on the bottom of one’s feet, dark as rust, and strong enough to dye clothes if left to set for too long. Just a month into her first semester at Beacon, Pyrrha had started to miss its earthy scent, her mother’s fond chastising about tracking in footsteps from the gymnasium to the baths.

She knew this house in every season. It was home.

“Are you ready, Jaune?” Pyrrha asked, watching him adjust the strap of his shield again.

“Maybe?” His toes curled against the floor, discomfited out of heavy socks and boots. Soon enough, that reddish hue would scatter up pale calves, cast around by the storm of combat. “When you told me we’d be sparring, I thought you meant with real weapons.”

“That would be rather unfair, wouldn’t it?” The sword in her hand sliced through the air with a flick of her wrist, making a soft whistling sound. “This wood is strong as steel and just as heavy, but my Semblance won’t be able to touch it. And since it’s not likely to cut you, neither will yours.”

Jaune brought the hilt of his weapon up to his face, brows scrunching together as he looked for any knot or seam. There were none; each was cut from one single, perfect piece. “These look really old. I don’t mean in a bad way, but–”

“They’re my mother’s.” Pyrrha interrupted quietly. “Before I realized I liked the spear better, she gave me this set for training.”

He gave a slow nod in response, eyes widening with gentle awe. “You know, it feels different when somebody’s had it before you.”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but she felt like it deserved an answer nonetheless. “I’ve always thought so.”

“One last question. I swear I’m not stalling.” Jaune’s sheepish smile strained all the way to the edges of his mouth; he was still growing into wider shoulders and wiry limbs, the nigh-invisible hair across his chest, drawing a soft trail down his stomach the color of wheat. “Why can’t I have a shirt on?”

“Endurance.” The answer snapped off her tongue like a reflex, and Pyrrha cleared her throat a second after. “When I hit you, I want you to feel it. You can’t always rely on your armor, and you have to learn to keep fighting even when it hurts.”

His laugh drifted up into a higher register, a touch nervous. “Yeesh. Guess I got to lay off the healing then, huh?”

“Don’t use your Aura, just your body.” She stepped into a firm stance, raising her own shield. “And hold out.”

Jaune wasn’t ready for her first swing and it collided with the rounded edge of the shield, deflected an inch away from his face. He flinched but bent his knees instead of stumbling back, making a quick jab towards her ribs. Sloppy, Pyrrha noted, but the kind of initiative she wanted to see. The blow was blocked, hard enough that she saw the impact vibrate up his arm, a grunt forced out between clenched teeth, yet the sword stayed in his hand. Last year it would have gone flying, abandoned by numb fingertips, but their training had been constant and grueling, until callouses built across Jaune’s palms and he learned to catch himself when she knocked him to the ground.

The first few minutes were simple give-and-take, strikes rattling each other’s shields or simply dodged. Pyrrha started to circle him, leather scraping clay as Jaune shuffled back, closing the distance between himself and the wall. There was just enough space for both elbows to keep him from being blocked in, so she hammered hard on Jaune’s right, watching his guard swing back and forth to keep anything from bleeding through. Turning her sword over in her hand, Pyrrha drove the hilt right into the center of his shield, and Jaune’s arm ricocheted back against raw stone. He gasped in pain, but got the message, making a hasty retreat to the center of the room again.

When the initial pump of adrenaline began to fade, all that was left was the will to fight. Jaune was starting to pant, breath forced in and out of his lungs with each exchange. This was exactly how she wanted him, worked hot and malleable, ready to be shaped under the blade. He managed a hard slice against her arm, but it was paid for with three in return, the final strike a blunt slap that knocked Jaune’s own shield back against his body. The impact stunned him, legs wobbling for a good second before he crouched, huddled behind the shield just in time to block a heavy swing that could have sent him sprawling.

“Your left shoulder’s canted forward.” Pyrrha said, emphasizing the words with a lightning-fast  tap against the offending side. “Straighten out.”

He obeyed, but there was a soft hiss of protest after. “I’m trying.”

Showing sympathy wouldn’t do, not now. “Try harder.”

It was a valiant effort. Jaune must have drawn on some last bit of strength to go on the offensive again, each cut clean even if he couldn’t pierce through her guard. His footwork had slowed from fatigue, but when Pyrrha made a low slice for one knee, Jaune jerked back just in time, the sword catching on his pants without making solid contact on flesh. She hummed in approval, deflecting a downward blow that came straight for her head. The strike was well-made, resounding through her body, but it left him wide open.

Pyrrha shoved her shield higher, keeping Jaune’s arm trapped high and made a blunt slice directly into his ribs. He let out a choked cough of shock, and a diagonal slam jostled the shield out of his hand, which hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled out of reach. The sword followed suit when she struck the blade itself, falling out of stunned fingers before Pyrrha brought her foot up and landed a kick in the dead center of Jaune’s chest. Empty hands flailed before he curbed the first instinct to panic, landing on his back with a restrained thump instead of simply collapsing onto the floor. Her follow-up was swift, sandal coming down right below his collarbones before he could think to get up again.

“Good.” She declared, breathless.

Jaune blinked twice, his chest rising a shallow inch under her foot. “Good?”

“You never gave up, you never asked to stop.” There was a bruise cradling his jaw that Pyrrha wanted to kiss, mark the pulse underneath with her tongue. “Where does it hurt?”

“Pretty much everywhere.” He confessed.

Shifting her foot back onto the floor, Pyrrha offered a hand so Jaune could get to his feet. It was slow, the jerky movements of someone whose body was one solid ache, but he straightened out his spine, chest puffed out a bit for her inspection. Light scratches from the tip of her sword decorated each arm, ranging from a pale pink to the deep red of blood caught just belong the surface, and a dark bruise the width of her fingers pressed together curved up across Jaune’s ribcage. A quick glance might have made the injury seem worse than it was, but there was no swelling or telling wince; he was just pale enough for every impact to show.

“Don’t heal yourself yet.” Pyrrha said, her hand rising to cup his cheek. “If you’ll offer me a bit of patience.”

Jaune’s smile was weary but genuine. “Yeah, you bet.”

“We should wash off this match, don’t you think?” Sweat was already starting to dry on their bodies, dust from the floor threatening to stain if ground in deep enough. “Let’s hang everything up.”

Without another word, he turned around, lightly jogging to the end of the end of the room where his shield had fallen. Pyrrha tried not to smile at the sight, but it was fruitless when Jaune hoisted the strap over his arm with a quiet groan so it could be hooked onto the wall, sword placed on the stand next to it. When he came back for her equipment as well, Pyrrha held a laugh inside her mouth, wondering if Jaune even thought about how attuned he was to her requests. She could only imagine the progress they would share in another year together.

“It was really nice for your parents to let us stay here for the summer.” Jaune said, following her through the open doorway to the small tiled hall leading to the baths. “I kind of thought they’d be here, though.”

“In a few weeks. One of my cousins is getting married and luck fell on them to bring the wine. There’s quite a ceremony involved.” Truly, Pyrrha was glad to have some privacy after staying four to a room, no matter how much she enjoyed Ren and Nora’s company. It would allow some time to teach Jaune a few passable phrases in Mistrali as well, if only to keep her mother from burying him under the sheer weight of disapproval. “The family of whoever proposed has to steal the casks by any means necessary.”

His eyes went round and wide. “That takes  _weeks_?”

“Usually just a night or two, but the celebrating…” She was still young enough that the wine handed to her was was watered down more often than not, but Pyrrha could feel the halo of a headache at the memory of last time she played cupbearer. “That’s another matter entirely.”

“I’d probably pass out trying to carry a whole barrel around here.” Jaune exhaled, loud and deep. “You weren’t kidding about how thin the air is. I’m dizzy every time I wake up.”

“You get used to it.” The first time she’d been taken to sea-level, Pyrrha thought she’d be able to run forever. “How about now? Are you dizzy?”

“No, kind of–” His eyes fell away from hers, suddenly interested in the path his feet were taking. “–I’m fine.”

“Jaune, you can tell me.” She was careful to keep the reminder light, but the spreading blush across his face was telling enough.

“Excited, I guess?” Mumbling the last syllable, Jaune shrugged. “I like spending time with you like this and stuff.”

Despite Pyrrha’s best effort, she felt her face warm up too, and promptly took his hand to give it a small squeeze. When Jaune squeezed back, they shared a split-second smile, right before both of them stepped onto the tile of the bathroom and shivered. It was mercilessly cold, the cistern of water that fed the tub left idle under the floor without anyone in the house to tend to the temperature. She went right to the little panel on the wall to turn on the heat, glad she could trust the maze of copper pipes to be reliable in any season.

“Can I–” Jaune started, clearing his throat behind her. “Can I help?”

While he hadn’t specified what exactly he planned to help with, they had done this often enough that Pyrrha could guess. “You can.”

Trembling fingers – reaching high must have been a punishment for his arms after the match – slid the golden band holding her ponytail in place free, cupped against Jaune’s palm before he did the same with her headpiece, careful not to catch any stray hairs in the draping chains. Pyrrha heard the jewelry clink against a wooden counter before his hands returned to her back, tugging at the knot of fabric holding her top together. It came undone with a few pulls, straps falling down her shoulders like a caress. Wearing the gorget and full armor in this heat would have been an undue burden, to be sure, so without them she was nearly bare when the cloth hit the floor.

She handled the sports bra herself, bringing it overhead as Jaune dropped to one knee so he could work the buckles of her sandals open. Pyrrha stepped out of them one at a time, the absence of the straps leaving clean bronze stripes through caked red dust. Her trousers were next – the same simple and loose style she had given Jaune to wear, so much easier to move in than that stubborn denim – and as soon as they hit the floor, Pyrrha saw him hesitate before daring to look up. The faint blush across his face was unduly charming, as was the way lightly calloused fingers hooked in the soft band of her underwear to draw them downward, as if he was afraid of stretching them out of shape.

Thus stripped, she urged Jaune to stand, the quiet stutter in his breath telling enough. In the last few minutes, more minor scrapes and bruises had emerged from his skin, a canvas with its first strokes of paint. Her knuckles brushed from chest to hip, but Pyrrha kept her eyes locked on his face, watching for any wince or swallowed whimper.

“If it hurts too much, you just have to tell me.” Pyrrha said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m totally–” Jaune sucked in a breath through his teeth, shoulders straightening. “Kind of feels like the time I accidentally took a sip of Nora’s espresso?”

She smiled, content with the answer. “The world’s a little blurred at the edges.”

The nod that came in turn was more like an eager bounce of his head, a wild curl of blonde hair jostled in front of stark blue eyes. For many reasons, Pyrrha was well-acquainted with pain, be it from minor accidents in the armory to the grueling grind of tournament training. One coach in particular had been obsessed with the mastery of it;  _you must never lose your awareness of pain and give into the comfort of ignorance. If you know where you are hurt, you will defend yourself as such. If only the enemy knows where you are hurt, they will use that to destroy you._  While she didn’t personally enjoy the sensation as such, exploring – and harnessing – its effects had a fair amount of appeal. As Pyrrha ran her fingers across Jaune’s jaw and saw him shiver, leaning into the touch, the answering coil of heat low in her stomach was proof enough of that.

“Undress and get in the tub.” She smiled before turning away, crossing the room to turn the massive knob at the head of the tub. The faucet was massive, a torrent of water spilling out, but there was plenty of space to fill. It had room enough for four or five, and relaxing in the huge basin alone after a match was one of the few luxuries Pyrrha missed from home. “A warm bath soothes almost everything.”

The faint rustle of fabric caught her attention before Jaune’s knee banged against carved marble and he yelped. “Ow, okay, that wall is higher than I thought.”

“Be careful.” Bracing both hands against the tub, Pyrrha swung her leg over the side and climbed in, warm water splashing against her feet. “There used to be a stool in here, but I think my father got tired of tripping over it.”

A broad seat was molded out of the back half of the tub, cool to the touch when she sat down and stretched out. Jaune sat down beside her, taking up more space than he meant to until figuring out a comfortable angle for his shoulders and watching the water rise. Soon enough it was up to their calves, a faint cloud of steam billowing towards the ceiling before disintegrating into an invisible mist, more proof of the heat slowly winding its way up both of their bodies.

“Why did we get in first?” Jaune asked, flicking a drop of water up into the air. “Silly question, I guess. I usually fill up the tub and then climb in.”

“It’s easier for your body to adjust to the temperature a little bit at a time. I used to have to fill most of this up with ice and then jump inside.” It was a relief for endlessly exhausted muscles, but the shock of it had been a trial to get used to. “My coach said she could hear me cursing from the courtyard.”

His head tilted, one eyebrow raised. “You curse? Since when?”

“Not in Vale’s tongue, Jaune.” She still had to hold her tongue at Beacon most of the time, though. After a particular look Goodwitch gave her halfway through the semester, Pyrrha was convinced the professor was at least conversationally fluent in Mistrali. “How goes the water feel?”

“Good.” Jaune’s shoulders sagged as the water crept up to his chest, and Pyrrha leaned over to turn off the faucet before they ended up neck-deep. “This thing’s so huge, it looks like I could go swimming in it.”

“You can try if you like.” As a child, she certainly had.

Whether the temptation or not passed, Pyrrha couldn’t say, but after a moment of mutual indulgence in the heat, she held her breath and plunged under the water, soaking her hair to the root. As soon as she rose up, Jaune did the same, spluttering a bit when sodden bangs dripped their excess into his mouth. She settled back on the seat between his knees, careful not to bump against anything sensitive, and Jaune’s arm was just long enough to reach up for the shampoo on the high shelf. The scent of honey registered before he poured a bit onto one palm, working up a lather between his hands and starting to work it into the top of her hair.

For such a simple ritual, Pyrrha prized it above so many others. Learning how to care for each other was painstaking, truly, every little particularity sussed out and memorized. She had taught Jaune where to touch and when, and helped him discern the same things about himself. A gentle prod against her shoulder prompted Pyrrha to dunk her head again, washing out the suds before she came back up for breath. When it was his turn, she shifted and braced her knee against the bench, careful to keep anything from dripping into his eyes until his hair was clean, soaked dark gold by the water. Earlier in the year, Jaune had started to grow it out, but the process was slow, small wild curls working their way down the nape of his neck.

She exchanged the shampoo for soap and a washcloth, feeling the faint rasp of stubble under Jaune’s jaw after she wiped the sweat from his brow, the specks of clay kicked up along his cheek. By the time Pyrrha made her way down to Jaune’s chest, she urged him to stand, allowing more room to wash down the length of his back. Focused on the task, it wasn’t until her fingers brushed his thigh that she felt the muscle there jump, tightening up to the line of Jaune’s hip. Her next wandering touch found him hard, and cupping the full base of his shaft earned a small, surprised groan.

“This will have to wait until after the bath.” Pyrrha said, looking up into Jaune’s eyes.

“Okay.” He visibly swallowed, steeling himself. “But what about you?”

“Help me finish cleaning up first.” The moment her hand fell away, Pyrrha surrendered the washcloth and turned around as if nothing had happened at all. Thankfully the warmth between her own thighs was well-concealed.

After closing her eyes, Pyrrha relaxed into the soft rub of the cloth against her skin, noting where Jaune did and didn’t linger. For the most part, he was focused, hesitating just above the swell of her breasts and over her hips, the idle splash of water covering any distracted hitch of breath. She swallowed a laugh when she felt the washcloth slip into the tub and out of his grasp, but before Jaune could scramble to try and find it, Pyrrha reached back and stopped him short. Repositioning herself on the edge of the tub took a bit more work, legs braced against the bench, but the moment her knees eased apart, any sense of worry vanished from his expression.

“Be careful,” without even intending to, Pyrrha’s voice had fallen in pitch, taking on a heated edge, “you don’t want to slip.”

A kiss pressed against her calf did a fair job hiding Jaune’s bluster, his lips traveling higher between breaths, and the first gentle rasp of his cheek against the inside of her thigh provoked a pleased sigh from low in Pyrrha’s throat. She leaned a bit further back, resting against the cool and solid presence of the wall, one hand guaranteeing more balance while the other sank deep into blonde hair, present but not guiding, not yet. The first broad swipe of Jaune’s tongue against her folds immediately drew slick heat to the surface, sending a thrill like a lightning bolt up her spine. Pyrrha focused her attention back on him just in time to hear a choked gasp of pleasure, that of a man given water after a long drought.

Of all the things she had taught Jaune, this had been the most rewarding thus far.

His first few strokes were exploratory, avoiding any sort of rush for the sake of reveling in the building warmth until Pyrrha felt herself nearly dripping against his tongue, and when a slow circle was drawn around her entrance, she answered with a moan. Blue eyes flickered upward as Jaune licked and sucked, the faint pink flush on his face reigniting when Pyrrha smiled in turn, teeth bared in silent satisfaction. It was so easy to recall when they fumbled through this together, battling sore jaws and the constant tide of embarrassment, those sweet moments heightened in hindsight by the bliss she felt now.

“Higher.” Pyrrha said, fingers tightening another degree.

Jaune hummed in reply, the subtle vibration making her thighs press in against either side of his head, tension flaring from the urge to buck her hips. A playful tug on his hair was encouragement enough, bringing Jaune up to the swell of her clit, and just the contact of his breath, exhaled sharp and quick, wrenched another sound out of Pyrrha’s throat. Now any sense of hesitation was gone, sweat starting to rise from her skin from the shifting combination of gentle taps and swirls with the tip of Jaune’s tongue and his mouth enveloping her completely, a constant pressure that chased warm coils of pleasure from head to toe, drawing her closer and closer to the edge.

Yet it didn’t end so quickly. When he relaxed his pace, part of her cursed and the rest was grateful, the promise of a swift release paling in comparison to feeling more and more. Pyrrha started to rock her hips, fingers gripping the hard edge of the tub tighter to keep her other hand from taking the urge out on Jaune. Even if he had acceded to the sparring, an unexpected flare of pain risked that he might stop, and that was simply unacceptable. Not when his tongue dipped inside her, seeking out every sensitive spot, and the light bump of Jaune’s nose against her clit resulted in Pyrrha’s surprised moan, never mocking but enjoying the sudden jolt and friction.

She was wound so very, very tight, toes curling under the water as her back arched, muscle rippling in hard lines down her stomach right before every thread of tension snapped. Pyrrha came with a short cry, the sound quickly descending into a whisper of Jaune’s name as the room spun into a bronze haze, bliss unwinding with a burst of white light behind her eyes when they fluttered shut. For a moment, Pyrrha felt like she was floating, only to be grounded by a deep breath and the comforting weight of Jaune’s cheek pressed against her thigh. When her eyes opened again, he was looking up at her with nothing short of awe, mouth shining and wet.

“Why do you look so surprised, mm?” Pyrrha cupped his jaw, massaging where she knew the sore point would be. “That wasn’t the first time.”

“But every time you–” Jaune tilted his head down, not quite hiding a smile. “You have no idea what you look like that way, do you? It’s just worth that, trust me.”

“I suppose so.” After pressing a kiss to the top of his hair, she eased herself off the side of the tub, sinking back into the water. “My sweet boy.”

The steam was gone, leaving tepid comfort behind, but the two of them washed up quietly before Pyrrha ducked down and held her breath, feeling for the heavy plug at the bottom of the tub. When it was twisted, the water began to siphon away, bubbles rising and popping from the tiny whirlpool above the drain, and she reached for the towels on the far bar before handing one of them to Jaune. She dried her hair as best she could before stepping out of the tub, not wanting it to leave a dripping path all the way out of the room. His hair fluffed up after a few vigorous strokes, returned to its bright blonde state, and then Jaune was quick to wrap the towel around his hips, even if it didn’t quite conceal his arousal.

“You don’t have to rush.” Pyrrha carefully gathered her jewelry in one hand, folding her clothes over the same arm. “We have all night.”

“I know.” He shrugged, smiling a little. “Which is kind of weird? I keep feeling like Ren is going to walk in on us…again.”

There were some downsides to sharing a single room. “At least he knows a locked door isn’t just a suggestion.”

“Nora was really sorry! At least by the third time.” Jaune scratched his head, not quite sounding convinced of his own words. “Kind of.”

Kind of, indeed.

“I’m going to take a moment to prepare in the bedroom.” Pyrrha said, purposefully letting her eyes travel up and down his body.  “When you’re ready, come join me.”

He cleared his throat, tugging on the knot of the towel to make it a little looser. “Okay.”

Pyrrha withdrew to the hallway, following familiar columns and sculptures through the full span of the house and to the small wing of bedrooms. Her private quarters had a bronze plaque on the center of the door to mark them, and the hinges were well-oiled and soundless when she made her way inside. Just seeing her bed, huge and empty, was a relief in itself, knowing that she could spend the rest of the summer with Jaune beside her and no shortage of privacy. While Pyrrha knew her parents would have a few comments about dating someone from outside Mistral, they had always given the intimate aspects of her relationships space.

The headpiece and the golden band were returned to their small drawers in the closet, keeping company with her gorget and earrings, the array of rings and bracelets Pyrrha always wore for festivals or marriages within the family. She abandoned her clothes to the space for laundry and let her arms stretch up to the ceiling before turning around, making sure there were no sore spots or aches that would be a distraction later. Both shoulders rolled back smoothly without a pop or twinge, so Pyrrha turned her attention to the chest at the foot of her bed, dropping down to one knee to work the heavy latch open.

Subdued musk blended with the scent of old perfume rose up from inside, and at first glance, the chest’s contents could have been mistaken for old hunting gear. Pyrrha pushed some of the more complicated straps aside to find the harness she was looking for, not to mention the clear box at the bottom that had a decidedly more modern appearance. Red silicone did have a tendency to look flashy almost anywhere, she had to admit, but the color was satisfying in its own way. A small bottle of lube and a pair of condoms followed suit, all set on the end of the bed before Pyrrha found the carved wooden handle she’d been seeking.

Dark fur and leather were woven together as the falls of the flogger, deceptively soft and light. While it would take far too heavy a hand to make such an implement bruise, the brush and impact against already aching skin was another matter entirely. Pyrrha drew the length of it up and down her arm to ensure nothing felt strange or out of place, shivering a little at the caress when the very tail of it wrapped around her wrist. After standing up straight, she extended her arm a bit further, bringing the flogger up and delivering a solid blow to her own flesh.

It was a blunt sensation, enough to make Pyrrha’s breath catch, but could only be faintly described as pain. Perfect.

The damp squeak of footsteps against wood could only come from one person. “Woah, what’s that?”

For a split second, Pyrrha was tempted to make Jaune guess, but she was always careful not to mock his inexperience. A lot of things looked terrifying before they were explained. “Come here and see. It’s quite soft, actually.”

“I could never keep something like that in my room.” Jaune said, shaking his head before closing the distance between them. “My sisters would always find anything I put under my bed. Or in the closet…or taped up in a box that said ‘do not touch.’”

“It was a private purchase.” Pyrrha admitted, stifling a flare of embarrassment. Reaching legal age had plenty of benefits, but the ability to spend her tournament winnings as she chose was high on that list. “People don’t tend to look for things they don’t know are there.”

His fingers carefully slid between the falls of the flogger, twisting them and feeling the give. “You want to use this on me?”

“If you’re willing to try.” The handle already felt warm against her palm, and concealing the eagerness swelling in her breast was a bit harder than Pyrrha wanted to admit. “With a proper warm-up, I think you’ll enjoy the feeling.”

A self-reflexive glance downward confirmed for both of them that he was still half-hard, and it wouldn’t take much encouragement to bring him the rest of the way again. “I trust you.”

“I know, Jaune.” Leaning forward, Pyrrha pressed a brief but firm kiss to his mouth. “And it’s a gift I treasure.”

“Where do you want me?” He asked, letting go of the flogger to start unwinding his towel.

“By the side of the bed.” The back of her knuckles gently brushed over Jaune’s shoulder when he turned. “If you need to lean forward at all, it will give you something to grip.”

A visible shiver went down his spine but he voiced no protest, walking around the bedpost to face the mattress. The bruises and scratches from the match had yet to fade, red and vulnerable lines that nourished the darker edge of her desire – heady but not cruel, truly – but it was a hunger she rarely indulged, and as such, even the promise of being sated roused a bone-deep longing. Pyrrha gave Jaune a moment to shift and find his balance, working out the nervous flickers of excitement, before carefully raising her arm.

The soft side of the falls were brought from shoulder to shoulder, offering a gentle caress that wound its way down his back, brushing along the sensitive spaces of Jaune’s ribs to the column of muscle above his hips that grew stronger by the year. Once Pyrrha reached the subtle notch at the base of his spine, she reversed the flogger’s path, tracing another trail up to Jaune’s nape. His shaky exhale renewed the heat starting to cool in the pit of her stomach, anticipation drawn in tight, perfect lines of tension.

“I’m going to begin.” She announced, breaking the contact of the flogger and his skin.

A second after Jaune nodded, the first lash was thrown with a flick of her wrist, although Pyrrha wagered the impact wasn’t half of what he feared. It was a solid stroke, spreading in a diagonal down across his back, but the path was wide, a shallow pain that scattered quickly. Despite the low groan of surprise wrested from his throat, there was no blemish or mark to show for it, not until she began a steady rhythm. Heat worked its way up Pyrrha’s forearm as she brought the flogger back and forth, counting a series of lashes before pausing to let Jaune breathe. Then she began again, chasing the blood rising under his skin, leaving it pink and even more vulnerable to a casual stroke of the falls, no matter how kind.

Jaune never flinched or balked, even as his breath quickened, hands clenching into fists only to shudder and relax a moment later. Nonetheless, he finally had to lean forward, bracing both hands against the bed, and even from behind Pyrrha could tell he was hard, erection straining up towards his stomach. While she hadn’t been entirely convinced that would be the case, the sight was certainly a bonus. The next lash landed on the swell of a bruise and Jaune’s ragged gasp, held on the precipice of pain and pleasure, was sweeter than the songs of Mistrali sirens.

Just as she wound him up, Pyrrha was careful to pace her rhythm to bring Jaune back down, the hardest strokes losing their sting until only the fur was caressing him again. Yet, with every nerve whipped into a frenzy, even those soft touches had him making noise, low and animal. When she finally stilled, Jaune didn’t even react, letting out another whimper as his fingers gripped the sheets, a drop of sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Setting the flogger aside with deliberate weight, Pyrrha closed the space left between them and pressed a kiss against the swell of his shoulder.

“You can heal now.” Her arms wrapped around him a loose embrace, avoiding every scratch and abrasion. “Just let it wash over you.”

The first spark of Aura was so faint Pyrrha barely felt it, but that spark quickly became a wildfire, a flood spilling out from behind a broken dam, the force of nature every soul could be. White light surged under Jaune’s skin, closing his cuts and swallowing down every hint of color until he was untouched and whole again. Pyrrha let out an echo of his next exhale, feeling golden threads tighten around her heart. In the beginning, the merging of their Auras had been reluctant, an unfamiliar tangle, but while sharing in the horror of the Grimm brought them closer together, it was the constant exchange of trust that sealed the connection.

There was a reason one’s hunting partner was so often one’s partner for life.

“Are you alright?” Pyrrha asked, feeling the staggered rise of Jaune’s chest against her arms.

“Yeah, I–” Two more breaths steadied him, fingers loosing their grip on the sheets. “I want you so much, Pyrrha. Please.”

“There’s no need to beg.” Although, Pyrrha had to admit, there was a great deal of pleasure when he did. Another kiss was placed over his hair before she withdrew, fingers skirting over the curve of his hip. “You can get on the bed.”

His inelegant scramble on top of the comforter brought the subtle curve of amusement to Pyrrha’s lips before she fetched the harness, stepping into the straps and tightening every small buckle until it fit snugly over her hips. The strapon itself jut outward with a slight curve towards the ceiling, pliable and almost warm to the touch when her hand brushed the shaft. With her knee braced against the mattress, Pyrrha tore the wrapper of one of the condoms open, rolling the latex down the length in one smooth, practiced motion. There was a soft click as she opened the small bottle of lube, spreading a dollop of it clear and slick across her palm before it followed the same path.

Sprawled on his back, framed by the soft bronze lights hanging from the ceiling, Jaune was the very picture of anticipation, eyes wide and growing dark with desire when she kneeled on the end of the bed. Approaching him with a bright smile, Pyrrha claimed a deep kiss as soon as she was in reach, and the way he arched against her, cock pressing hard against her stomach was a divine sort of friction. Jaune’s hands found her shoulders, steadying himself as he returned the kiss, artless in his need. He breathed another plea between her teeth and Pyrrha’s smile only widened, pressing one knee against the inside of his thigh to keep it pinned down against the bed.

“Are you trying to rush me, Jaune?” She whispered, putting just a touch of steel into her tone.

“No,” he mumbled the protest in an instant, fingers curved like ten tense wires against her skin, “ _Pyrrha_ –”

The back of Pyrrha’s knuckles slid against the warm linen of the sheets before she gripped the curve of Jaune’s ass, encouraging the slant of his hips. It took a moment to situate herself, braced against the bed with one hand as the other gripped the base of the strapon, guiding the lube-slick head against that tight ring of muscle before pushing forward. When the first inch slid inside, a small and nameless sound caught in Jaune’s throat, tension radiating from his entire body before he relaxed, palms sliding down her back to the swell of her hips. The subtle tug that followed was all the signal Pyrrha needed, knees sinking into the plush of the bed as she eased into a full thrust.

As soon as her body was flush against his, straps taut around her thighs, Pyrrha brought her hand between them, fingers tracing up the underside of Jaune’s shaft. Just that gentle contact made him grit his teeth, drawing out a drop of pre-come from the head of his cock, and she began to move. A tender rhythm at first, but when her hand found an even pace with her hips, encircling him and working up and down, Jaune let out a choked cry, pulling her even closer. Pyrrha kissed him every chance she could, reveling when each kiss was returned, his breath quickening and twisting into a wordless groan.

She had no real intent to tease, but the press of her teeth against Jaune’s throat made him buck underneath her, putting a deeper angle on the next thrust, and Pyrrha felt his body shiver from head to toe, nails biting into the space between her shoulder blades. He was close, she could tell from the way Jaune’s cock strained against her hand, but a few lessons in discipline had taught him to rebel against that first, desperate impulse, and the effort of holding back left a light flush across his chest, spreading up to his face in a shade of rosy red. There was no punishment to be had, not for this, but for the chance to make her proud, Pyrrha had found he would endure a good deal.

A trail of marks decorated his shoulders under her whim, each bite a shallow imprint that drew color to his flesh before Jaune’s Aura banished it once more, reacting out of impulse in the heat of the moment. He moved with her into each thrust, and each time she bottomed out, Pyrrha felt it as a faint echo between her thighs, driving her faster and harder. Jaune welcomed it without complaint, even as his hips twitched upward on the razor’s edge of denial, a whimper catching on his tongue in the middle of their next kiss. He surrendered, just as he had with his back on the clay floor beneath the press of her sandal, and it was endlessly intoxicating.

There was no need for a blade or shield when she could mold Jaune with her own two hands, words whispered in just the right moment. The give and take had a sweeter cadence, exchanged when they were chest to chest, hearts as close as they could stand to be. She kissed him once more and it was a fragile, gasping thing, Jaune’s hands clinging to her shoulders as if it was the only thing holding him together. Lost to mindless pleasure, it may as well have been.

“Let go,” Pyrrha moaned against his mouth, “let me feel you come.”

Jaune’s only answer was a low shout of her name, his head turning back against the pillow and both eyes squeezing shut as he found release. Warmth dripped down Pyrrha’s stomach in pale lines with each stroke along his cock, her hips going still so she stayed deep inside him through every pulse of bliss. His iron grip of her shoulders relaxed after a needy inhale, pulse visibly beating in Jaune’s throat and drawing her attention there, a soft kiss against the flutter of blood and heat. The scent of sweat and sex left a sharp tang in the back of Pyrrha’s throat when she swallowed, clinging to the sheets and their skin. His body was a comforting weight beneath hers, and she was loathe to break that contact anytime soon.

Cupping Jaune’s jaw urged his eyes open, even if the haze of afterglow was cast over rich blue. “I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time she had said it, but there remained a tightness in Pyrrha’s chest whenever the words were uttered, fear that she had jeopardized its return. “I love you too, Pyrrha. Wow.”

She laughed, worry dashed to pieces in the wake of the sudden sound. “Wow?”

“You made me see stars I don’t know the names of?” Jaune cleared his throat, blatantly flustered. “ _Wow_  was a lot faster to say.”

They lay there together in quiet comfort for a long moment, hands memorizing each other’s outlines once more, lust cooled down to the base desire of contact, proof of existence and constant breath. Pyrrha only withdrew when she felt the leather of her harness starting to stick, leaving a mild ache against the back of her thighs from being held in place for so long. It was abandoned at the end of the bed with everything else, to be cleaned and returned to the chest when she found the energy and the will. The two of them were in need of washing up as well, but Jaune looked on the edge of passing out, and after something so vigorous, his care was her priority.

“Can I do anything for you?” Pyrrha asked, tugging the top sheet out of the way so they could lay underneath the clean set.

Jaune turned onto his side, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. “Stay here?”

The fact that it was a question at all made her heart ache. She wrapped her arms around him, drawing Jaune’s head into the curve of her shoulder. “Of course.”

With silent permission given, he was asleep in moments, curled against her body and one arm tucked over her ribs. For the first time in Pyrrha’s memory, her bed didn’t feel so huge, and she was infinitely grateful to call this place a home.

–

 _“…let me borrow that armour of yours, so the Trojans might take me for you and thus break off the battle. Then the warrior sons of Achaea, in their exhaustion, may win a breathing space: there are few such chances in war.”_  –Patroclus to Achilles, The Iliad


End file.
